


The Case of the Lonely Chemist

by 796116311389



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: American is not an excuse, BAMF John, Case Fic, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Depictions of Pseudo-Disease, Drugs, Eventual Sex (I hope.), Grisly Crime Scene, I use Google Earth, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Seizures, Sexual Tension, Sherlock is a jerk, Slippery Science, Spiders, Violent Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/796116311389/pseuds/796116311389
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world famous pop star dies a brutal and public death, yet with all the world as witnesses, there are no suspects.</p><p>In a hidden lab,a secret new drug goes missing. A drug that could save millions or provide the perfect weapon if it fell into the wrong hands.</p><p>Sherlock is called upon to solve these mysteries before it's too late, but what if it already is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Mad World

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, so this is my first Sherlock fanfiction. Actually, my first fanction, period. I came up with the whole idea by picking 11 songs from my JohnLock list in iTunes, shuffling them, and using the song titles as chapter titles. I hope it's well recieved and someone finds as much enjoyment in it as I did imagining it. ConCrit is always welcome! EDIT: Beta found. :) 
> 
> Please forgive any overly graphic descriptions. Also, consider yourself warned, this fanfiction has a similar amount of clinical science and gritty realism as an episode of CSI, NCIS, Criminal Minds, or any other Crime Procedural you would see on tv.
> 
> Finally, I tried to make my forensics and my science as accurate as possible, but the disease I use in here is almost 100% made up.

**PROLOGUE: MAD WORLD**

 

Tiffany Graham sighed deeply as she looked in the brightly lit dressing room mirror and popped two white pills into her mouth and swallowed them dry. Her head was aching, her neck muscles fighting to give in and just plonk her head on the table in front of her. She smiled at her reflection, but it looked more like a grimace.

She hadn’t been feeling quite herself lately, slow and lethargic. Her mind had taken to wandering and important events completely slipped her mind. She stared blankly around the room, letting her eyes wander, not really settling on any particular object. Slowly, her gaze worked its way up.

She gazed at the clock on the wall and watched as minutes slid by gracefully, fluidly, lulling her.

A sudden knock on the door forced her out of her silent trance. Quickly she gathered her thoughts, which alarmingly there were few of, and responded.

“Yes? What is it?”

“What’s taking so long? They’re almost ready.”

“Ah, just a minute. I’ll be right there.”

Tiffany turned to the mirror one last time. She checked her makeup and her hair. She wanted to be natural for her fans, they looked up to her and she insisted on doing her own hair and makeup.

_It helps me relate. Be normal._

She sniffled.

A single drop of blood trickled from her left nostril.

Hastily, Tiffany wiped the blood from her face and frowned. She vainly looked for any trace of the blood, then, satisfied there was no trace of the mysterious nosebleed, gave herself a weak smile and rose to open the door.

Her manager, a beady-eyed, sweaty, little man, eyed her distastefully. He didn’t like the idea of Tiffany doing things au natural, but could do nothing to stop her. Begrudgingly, he had to admit there had been an uptick in Tiffany’s trending since her new natural style. His expression softened after eying her for a moment.

“Tiffany, are you alright?”

Tiffany focused on her manager and for a moment looked troubled, as if he had asked a complex physics problem and not a simple question of wellbeing. It passed and she gave a radiant, winning smile.

“Of course! Now, let’s give my fans a show they’ll always remember.”

=

Tiffany strutted out onto the massive stage and peered out into the crowd, the enormity of it lost to the stage lights in her eyes. This was her element. She grinned.

“Are you guys ready?!”

The microphone headset, pumping through massive speakers, sent her voice booming out over the crowd. They screamed a deafening cheer in response.

The melodic intro to her billboard number one single started up and smiling, she opened her mouth to sing, but no sound came out. She stood dumbly for a moment, and then became aware of a slight moist tickle at her nose. She sniffed. The tickle became a sharp pinching feeling. She looked down at herself. Blood had begun to cover the front of her shirt.

Her hands shaking, she wiped the blood flowing freely from her nose. Suddenly, her world tilted and she was aware of an odd piercing, shrill noise.

It was her. She was screaming and falling to the stage floor.

She began to convulse and shake, the blood from her nose flying and splattering all around her.

Her eyes caught sight of herself magnified thousands of times on the large monitor at the back of the stage.

She watched in detached horror at the writhing, bloody, wailing thing that was her body.

Stage workers ran to assist her, but only managed to succeed in holding down her flailing limbs.

Suddenly, Tiffany felt fire everywhere and her voice broke and became a strangled gasp as she cried out hoarsely in intense pain. Her back arched violently and her body was wrenched from the hands of the desperate stage workers who now fell back from her in abject terror.

Her body formed a perfect half moon shape and held it for what seemed like eternity; pain stretching Tiffany to the brink of unconsciousness.

Then it was over.

Her body fell limp and Tiffany drifted away, the pain gone. Everything was gone. Everything passed into darkness.

=

The venue had been cleared of all the fans of Tiffany Graham.

Hazmat workers had cordoned off Tiffany’s body in a manmade plastic room. Her twisted form distorted slightly by the slick plastic. She lay contorted and limp, her eyes staring blankly. Blood was smeared and spattered on her clothes, face, and pooled slightly around her head.

DI Lestrade watched the hazmat team quietly for a moment, deciding.

He sighed and his face held a look of resignation as he pulled out his mobile.

Pressing a single button, his mobile speed dialed an all too familiar number.

It rang, twice, before a man picked up on the other end.

“Sherlock Holmes.”


	2. What Do You Want From Me Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With that Sherlock hung up the phone and spun around to face John. “There’s been a ‘suspicious death’.” Sherlock looked at John like it was the most wonderful news._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter doesn't have anything I think I need to warn for. That said, there is talking of Seizures in this chapter. All of which may be more or less inaccurate. So, I warn for bad science I guess. Also, major gratitude for my betas: Lady Tuesday, somanyhands, and siri_leigh. I <3 U GUYS YOU ARE AWESOME. ^3^

John pinched the bridge of his noise tightly and took a deep breath through his mouth. His patience was wearing thin yet again with his perpetually difficult flat mate Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock had been bringing back to the flat all sorts of foul chemicals over the past week, but today’s batch of disgusting sludge took the cake. John eyed Sherlock calmly, who pointedly ignored him.

“What is that?” John pointed to the sludge Sherlock had just opened which was giving off a noxious odor that threatened to knock John out. How Sherlock could stand it was completely beyond him.

Sherlock continued to spoon teaspoons of the substance into small Petri dishes. He didn’t answer John. John sighed loudly and ground his teeth. Sherlock finally looked up from what he was doing.

“What? I’m busy.” He gave John an annoyed look.

John narrowed his eyes, but kept his tone even. It was best not to lose his temper with Sherlock. He pointed to the toxic looking sludge again, “I asked you what _that_ is and _why_ is it in our flat?”

“It’s raw sewage. I’m testing various drain cleaners effects on neutralizing the hydrogen sulfide content.” Sherlock sniffed, his attention never leaving the experiment.

John stared stupidly at Sherlock for a moment, beyond disgusted and irate at this new revelation. He lost all control of his temper.

“You brought raw sewage into our flat?!” he yelled, causing Sherlock to actually flinch slightly.

Sherlock stopped everything he was doing and faced John properly.

John noted that the lanky bastard actually had the gall to look surprised that John would be upset by his experiment. ”Do you have any idea what a safety hazard that is?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “So is fire, John, but I don’t see you complaining about that. You also have no problem with any of the multitude of sharp objects I handle. Why should this be any different?” Sherlock had resumed his air of arrogant tolerance that made him damn insufferable to most people. While, thankfully, John wasn’t most people, this had crossed a line for him.

“Because, Sherlock, this is the kitchen. I make food in the kitchen. I make tea in the kitchen. And I do not want to have to worry that anything I make in the kitchen might have come in contact with someone else’s _raw sewage_!” John’s voice rose on ‘raw sewage’, but it dropped down again as he continued. “I do not want that in the kitchen. I want you to get rid of it. Right now.”

Sherlock scowled, but knew better than to argue with John. There was a finality to his statement that left Sherlock unwilling to further antagonize his flatmate, even if it meant ruining a perfectly good experiment. He would just resume the whole thing later at Bart’s.

Sherlock picked up the Petri dishes and moved them to the sink, then he grabbed the jar containing the sludge, tightened its lid, and tossed it in the trash. He returned to the Petri dishes and began washing them. John visibly relaxed now that the offending substance would soon be leaving the flat.

Sherlock continued to wash the Petri dishes disdainfully, his body language making it clear that he was only doing this to make John happy. The irrationality of Sherlock’s petulant behavior always caught John unawares. Eventually he would learn to live with it, even if it did make him feel like he had just run over a puppy with a car. Multiple times. John sighed again, giving in to the guilt. He walked up to the sink next to Sherlock.

“Here. Let me help.” John picked up a Petri dish that Sherlock had already cleaned and began drying it. Silently, they continued to do the dishes together until all the Petri dishes were spotlessly clean.

John couldn’t help but smile to himself, proud of the clean dishes. Even Sherlock seemed to have gotten over his sulking. John turned to Sherlock with the intention of speaking, but was cut off by Sherlock’s mobile ringing. Sherlock took two strides towards the other side of the kitchen and picked up his mobile from the end of the kitchen table where it lay. It rang a second time, and then he answered.

“Sherlock Holmes.”  His face was impassive at first, but then broke out into a wry grin. “Ah, Inspector Lestrade.” A pause, then, “ You know I’m _always_ busy.” Sherlock listened to Lestrade.

John was sure he could feel Lestrade’s exasperation through the phone.

Seeing the excited state that his friend was slowly slipping into, John wondered if they would have time to eat before they set off.  Probably not. “Fine. We’ll be there in thirty minutes. Try not to let Anderson spoil the evidence.”

With that Sherlock hung up the phone and spun around to face John. “There’s been a ‘suspicious death’.” Sherlock looked at John like it was the most wonderful news.

John looked thoughtful for a moment then, with an almost questioning tone, he spoke, “Not a murder.”

Sherlock looked at John like he was daft.

“Yes, a ‘suspicious death’; it’s what I said.”

 Suddenly, Sherlock was whirling around and dashing to grab his coat and scarf. He was partway through putting on his scarf when he paused and turned an impatient frown on John. “Well? Move. This one sounds like brilliant fun and you’re being a damper. Let’s go.” He finished putting on his scarf and began waving his hands about impatiently.

John walked over to the sofa and picked up his jacket from where he had thrown it down earlier and in a single shrug he had it on. With that they were out the door.

When Sherlock and John arrived at the arena they were greeted with a scene of absolute chaos. Thousands of fans milled around outside the entrance, all agitated and excited by the evening’s events. Many of them were holding candles and crying.

Off to one side of the entrance stood a medical tent, with a large portion of the fans being treated inside. Doctors were tending mostly to scrapes and cuts from trying to exit in a rush, although a few had more serious injuries.

Sherlock passed through the crowd with ease, people parting instinctively at his imperious form. John wasn’t quite as lucky, trailing after the bubble Sherlock created in the crowd. He was elbowed a couple times as they drew closer to the entrance, until finally they met the police line at the entrance. A constable gave them a look over and then, with a curt nod, allowed them to pass. John appreciated that they were now so recognizable at a crime scene that they didn’t have to prove who they were and that, yes, really, they were called in to help.

The interior of the arena was separated from the outside by a ring of shops. John eyed the cops on break in Starbucks with envy. He would have to find the time to get himself and Sherlock coffee.

After they followed a winding interior corridor, they came to the seating entrance and entered the arena proper. John was actually quite impressed with the interior of the arena. It was easily large enough to fit 50,000 people and, judging from the crowd outside, at least two-thirds of the seats had been filled that night.

Sherlock strode ahead of John looking all around the arena, taking in everything.

Lestrade was near the stage and immediately noticed when Sherlock and John entered the arena.

“Oi! Sherlock! John! Over here!” he called, drawing their attention to him.

Sherlock and John approached Lestrade, who began giving them the details of the evening.

“It’s a real sorry thing. Her name is Tiffany Graham, she’s a pop megastar. I’m sure you noticed the crowd. Anyway, she was apparently just about to start the concert when she suffered a nosebleed, fell down, and had some sort of fatal seizure.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and watched the hazmat team pack away their things on the stage, while nearby, Anderson and his team watched them with scowls.

 John looked at Lestrade quizzically, “That sounds rather straightforward. Not much of a mysterious death. Why did you call Sherlock?”

Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock beat him to it, “He called me because the hazmat team was here before the police.”

Lestrade nodded in agreement, “Yeah. I thought maybe you had some insider info on how they knew to be here. Why they were on call. I mean, they had already quarantined the entire first section closest to the stage.” John furrowed his brow, suddenly concerned.

“Wait. Are you saying that they were prepared for this? For an outbreak? Of what?”

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders, “Don’t know.” 

Sherlock fiddled with his phone momentarily, before handing it to John. A Youtube video began to play on the screen. It was a video of the concert from some fan’s phone. The video clearly showed the final moments of Tiffany Graham and the ensuing chaos as people panicked, trying to flee from the frightening death that had just occurred.

John’s stomach tightened. He was familiar with brutal deaths, but there was something heart wrenching about watching the final moments of this young woman on Youtube.

Sherlock carefully watched John without expression.

“Well, John, what do you think?”

John was quiet as he processed the video. It was a seizure, but there was something off about it. “I’m not quite sure what to make of it yet. It’s a seizure, but… I don’t know, I feel like there’s something wrong….” His words trailed off as it dawned on him. “The back arch. It’s too severe. That’s not natural for a seizure. Also, the nosebleed seems wrong.” John paused. “This wasn’t a normal seizure, but I don’t know what it is.”

Sherlock looked back to the stage. “They do.”

The hazmat team was gathering the last of their things and preparing to take the body in a black bag. Apparently, they had no intent of letting the body go. Sherlock bounded towards the stage and then up onto it in a flash. John followed behind.

Sherlock greeted the Hazmat team leader with a thin smile. “Hello. What happened here?”

 The leader looked at Sherlock suspiciously and curtly replied, “Obviously a woman was killed.”

Sherlock cocked his head. “Interesting word choice.”

The leader realized his mistake, scowled at Sherlock, and walked away to finish directing his team in the cleanup.

“Pie Protocols,” Sherlock called after him.

The man froze for a half second, but did not turn around. He then continued directing his team.

Sherlock broke out in a quick grin, suddenly gleeful.

 John looked at the Hazmat team leader and then to Sherlock’s face, “What just happened?”

Sherlock clasped his hands together beneath his chin and John could tell something was turning over and over in his friend’s mind. Sherlock suddenly whipped around, jumped off the stage, and began heading towards the arena exit. John sighed with patience and followed after him. He knew Sherlock would eventually share what was happening.

 Sherlock passed Lestrade without a word. Lestrade threw his hands up in exasperation. “Well, Sherlock? Are you gonna share anything?” he shouted after the detective.

Sherlock ignored him, so John yelled to Lestrade, “I’ll call you.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to directing the investigation in the arena.

As Sherlock and John exited the arena, Sherlock slipped into character and began vapidly chatting with fans to learn more info about Tiffany. John couldn’t follow the conversation; most of what the fans had to say was surprisingly dull and repetitive.  As such, John decided to go and see if he could help out at the medical tent.

Wandering into the tent, he found that the most severely injured had already been treated or taken to a hospital. Near the back, he noticed a doctor meandering about. He was as tall as John and wearing jeans and a white jumper. His hair was black and straight and cropped close to his head. He had big eyes behind big glasses, and if John didn’t know better he would’ve said the man was nervous. John approached him.

“Hello.”

The mousy man smiled at John with a big, toothy grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes; he observed John with suspicion. “Well, hello. Are you looking for someone?”

“Ah, no. Just seeing if there’s anything I can do to help. I’m a doctor as well.”

The man fidgeted, but kept his eyes on John. “Well, there’s nothing much to do. Mostly cuts and bruises. I’d say there were more hurt egos than actual injuries this evening. If you’ll excuse me, I… should get back to work.” The mousy man pushed by John, but he had barely taken two steps when John stopped him.

“Wait!”

The mousy man froze and turned slowly around to face John, his smile still frozen on his face. “Yes?”

“You forgot your coat. It’s a bit chilly tonight.”

The mousy man murmured a thank you, snatched his coat, and fled the tent.

John watched him go. He shook his head at the man’s odd behavior, but chalked it up to being a busy evening. John looked around the tent for a moment, rather disappointed there was nothing he could do. He exited the tent, where he nearly ran into Sherlock, who chided him for disappearing.

“You really shouldn’t have wandered away, I learned quite a few interesting things about the personal life of Tiffany Graham, things that could be very important if my theory is correct. Plus, you make for a convenient excuse when all these ridiculous females start trying to chat me up. Fans in general are rather resistant to rejection.”  The last half of Sherlock’s statement made John do a double take.

“What do you mean ‘convenient excuse’ and who tried to chat you up?” John looked at Sherlock, who, although rather striking in form, did not exactly radiate an appearance that invited people to flirt with him.

Sherlock sighed and John could hear the eye roll in the single exhalation of breath. “I mean, John, that when overly-determined, amorously-inclined females begin to think that I would be honoured to take them to bed, I simply have to move closer to you and they all assume I’m taken. It’s rather handy that you seem to naturally repel women.” Sherlock began walking away, leaving John momentarily stunned.

Then John was after Sherlock, “What do mean I ‘repel women’?!”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m not insulting you; I’m merely pointing out an observation.”

John gave an aggravated sigh and chose to bite his tongue. He knew Sherlock was just trying to rile him up at this point, but still. Bastard.

Sherlock and John reached the street and Sherlock hailed a taxi. John waited until they were in the taxi before he decided to start speaking again.

“So where are we going?”

Sherlock was staring out the window and didn’t bother facing John when he spoke. “We’re going to pay a visit to Mycroft.”

John was surprised, to say the least. Sherlock never willingly visited his brother. “Why?”

“Because,” Sherlock faced John now and the corner of his lips twitched slightly, almost granting John a smile,”I need to ask him about some pastries.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Have a great day!
> 
> Also, if you want, you can follow me on my tumblr at http://quailisthestatebird.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> While not necessary, I always appreciate a review. Thank you again, have an excellent day!


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